


When Silence Speaks Loudest

by flipflop_diva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, HP: EWE, Light Angst, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Post-Deathly Hallows AU, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9667553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: It was Hermione's idea to keep this quiet. She knows it. So why does it suddenly feel like it was a very, very bad idea? Set sometime post-Deathly Hallows.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [specialrhino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialrhino/gifts).



> Written for specialrhino for Chocolate Box 2017.
> 
> I love, love, love Hermione/Pansy so I was super excited to get this assignment! The prompt was to show how this relationship would work. In my head, it's always slightly dysfunctional but also loving, so I went with that. I hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day!

Hermione took a deep breath as she made her quill scrawl the final few words of her note, her name seeming almost dark and ominous in the black ink. Carefully, she folded the parchment when she was finished, tucking it into the envelope and tying that to the leg of the white owl waiting patiently with its foot extended.

“What was that?” Another voice broke the silence in the room just before the owl took off with fluttering wings through the open window of the flat.

“Harry and Ginny inviting me to come round for Valentine’s Day,” Hermione answered, voice almost monotone. She didn’t turn around to look at the other person.

She could feel the dark eyes stared at her intently nonetheless. 

“And what did you say?”

“That I had plans.”

“That’s it?”

“You know that’s it.” Hermione sighed, ducking her head and still not turning around. She knew she wasn’t being fair. It had been her idea but yet …

“You could just tell them.” Pansy’s voice matched the monotone of Hermione’s.

Hermione lifted her head. “That’s what you want?”

“Do you care what I want?” 

Hermione cringed at the bitter note in Pansy’s tone. “Of course I care what you want!” 

“If you say so.”

Pansy walked past Hermione, still standing by the open window, and headed into the kitchen. A few moments later the sound of the tea kettle going could be heard. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, steeled herself.

This had been her idea. She knew that. She needed to fix things.

She walked into the kitchen, reached out, grabbed hold of Pansy’s wrist.

“I _do_ care what you want,” she said, almost roughly. “I love you. You know that. I’m just …”

“Frightened?” Pansy raised a brow.

“Yes!” Hermione said, the word almost exploding out of her. “Yes! I’m frightened! Not that I’ll have to choose between my friends and you because I already chose you but that I will lose them forever! They were there for me for years, and I am lying to them because I don’t want them to hurt you, and I’m frightened — I’m frightened that I waited too long, I’m frightened they are going to walk away and I am frightened that you are going to follow!”

She stopped there, cut herself off, panting a little. She had never meant to reveal all that, but yet the weight of it finally being out in the open made her feel almost weak.

Pansy was watching her, silent, unmoving, just watching. The silence between them was nerve-wracking, the little peeps of the tea kettle whistle doing nothing to calm Hermione’s nerves.

“Just say something,” Hermione finally begged. “Please.”

For a moment, Hermione thought Pansy was going to ignore her request, thought that maybe she had gone too far — they had always had an unspoken agreement about keeping their emotions in check — but just before Hermione almost fled the kitchen in shame, Pansy moved. Stepped toward her, eyes dark. And then her lip curled up slightly and she smiled — a real smile, the one she reserved just for Hermione, the one no one else would believe she had.

“I’m not going anywhere, you prat,” Pansy said. “I love you. And if those friends of yours love you, they won’t leave you either.”

Hermione felt like she could breathe again. The air she had been holding rushed out of her lungs in one burst. “You promise?”

Pansy moved closer, reached up to run a finger down Hermione’s cheek. “You know I do,” she said, and pressed her lips to Hermione’s.

•••

It had started a year prior. The sexual part of their relationship anyway. The rest of it had started a few months before that, on the day Hermione’s boss at the Ministry had let her know in no uncertain terms that Pansy Parkinson was going to be working with her on a very important project and they were expected to work long hours together.

Hermione had drowned her rage in pints of Firewhisky later that night, venting unstoppably to Ron and Harry.

“How can they make me work with that horrible girl?” she had asked, over and over.

She had spent the last two years of her Ministry career doing whatever she could to avoid Pansy. The girl hadn’t changed at all since Hogwarts, as far as Hermione could tell. She was still mean, still derisive, still dismissive of everyone and everything that didn’t meet her standards.

Hermione hadn’t wanted any part of that, but she' had no choice. She was a professional above all, and she would do her job, she told herself that first day. Even when it meant listening to Pansy tell her everything she came up with was horrible. Even when it meant doing more than her fair share of the work.

Except Pansy surprised her. It wasn’t that Pansy wasn’t bossy and dismissive and controlling — she was. But she was also smart and hard-working and seemed willing to put in long hours at the office. 

But even more shocking were the late nights, when they were the only ones around, when Hermione could have sworn she saw Pansy watching her. Or the moments when Pansy’s hand brushed her arm or her breast. The moments when Pansy rolled her eyes at her and ordered her to do something and Hermione had a feeling in her belly unlike any other.

And then came the Ministry Christmas party.

Pansy cornered her in the bathroom, arms crossed across her chest, staring at Hermione so intensely Hermione felt her cheeks grow red. Pansy reached out, ran a finger across Hermione’s cleavage that was quite visible in her low-cut green dress, an outfit Ginny had talked her into wearing just hours earlier.

“Looking to score tonight?” Pansy said, and there was a note of something in her voice that Hermione couldn’t read. Scorn? Jealousy?

Hermione narrowed her eyes, directed a stare back to Pansy that she hoped matched the other girl’s.

“It’s none of your business,” she huffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to get back with Weasley again.” Pansy rolled her eyes.

“I …” Hermione huffed. “I don’t need to answer that.”

Pansy rolled her eyes again. “You are trying to get back with him,” she said derisively. “You could do so much better.”

“What I do …,” Hermione cut herself off as the words registered. “What?” Was Pansy giving her a compliment.

“You’re so dim,” Pansy said. She moved in closer, so close Hermione had to lean backward against the bathroom counter. She could spell the Firewhisky on Pansy’s breath, could see directly into her eyes, which were almost like coal, dark and impenetrable.

“What are you doing?” Hermione felt a tingle race down her spine. Fear. But something more than fear. 

Arousal.

“Showing you a better option.” Pansy leaned even closer, her alcohol-laced breath ghosting across Hermione’s face. And then her hand was back on Hermione’s cleavage, but this time her whole palm moved to cup her breast.

Hermione couldn’t help it. She let out a small gasp.

Pansy’s hands trailed down Hermione’s body, trailing all the way down until they were on her thighs, and then they were sliding upward again, this time taking the bottom of Hermione’s dress with them.

Hermione couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She felt frozen, the bathroom counter hard against her back as Pansy’s hands snaked up the inside of her legs and then went higher, only stopping when they found the waistband of her knickers.

And then time stood still. Hermione remembered her body tensing as she felt her knickers start to lower but then before she knew it, her knickers were down around her ankles and Pansy was under her dress and Pansy’s mouth was latched on to her clit and her fingers were deep inside Hermione’s body, thrusting hard and fast and rough, and then Hermione was sprawled on the bathroom counter, crying out in pleasure as she came hard around Pansy’s hand.

Pansy was gone by the time Hermione pulled herself together, but there was a note written in lipstick on the bathroom mirror.

_“You know where to find me if you want to do it again.”_

Hermione flushed furiously before pointing her wand at the mirror and wiping away all traces of her indiscretion. But she couldn’t wipe away the memories, and two nights later, Pansy was giving her an orgasm on top of the conference table and Hermione knew then that this was something that wasn’t ever going to stop.

•••

Hermione took a deep breath as she made her quill scrawl the final few words of her new note, her name seeming strong and final in the dark ink. Carefully, she folded the parchment when she was finished, tucking it into the envelope and tying that to the leg of the brown owl waiting patiently with its foot extended.

“What is that?” Pansy’s voice was quiet. She went silent as the two of them watched the owl take off with fluttering wings through the open window of the flat.

“I told Harry and Ginny I’d come round for Valentine’s Day,” Hermione answered, turning toward Pansy. “And that I was bringing a date.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“And if they don’t approve?”

“Well,” Hermione shrugged. “Then I have my girlfriend.”

Pansy nodded at that, crossed the room until she and Hermione were practically touching. Then she leaned in to press her lips to Hermione’s, her fingers slipping between Hermione’s legs as she did so.

“Yes,” Pansy said between kisses, her fingers already starting to move in familiar patterns, the heat in Hermione’s belly already starting to coil. “You do.”


End file.
